


Inheritance

by sammyinlacypanties



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Anders Lives, Drabbles, Dragon Age AU, Gen, mostly of angst and fluff and headcanons, this is going to be a mess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-25 08:28:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4953385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammyinlacypanties/pseuds/sammyinlacypanties
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU where the gap between the end of DA2 and the beginning of Inquisition is about 18 years instead of 3. The mage-templar rebellion was slow to take off but has now raged for almost a decade, and the young daughter of Fenris and Hawke finds herself standing between the world and a giant hole in the sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If you love someone, never let them go

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is definitely a fix-it because let's face it, if we could do whatever we wanted in Bioware games, there's a whole lot of romance plotlines that would have gone very differently.

Hawke stirred in her bed - she never could sleep all the way through a night, not since she was a child - and rolled over languidly to see Fenris, standing in front of the dying embers in the fireplace, fully dressed except for his right gauntlet, which he had been in the middle of carefully pulling on when she woke. His bright green eyes locked with hers, and widened, and he froze - it was obvious he had not intended to wake her.

Hawke propped herself up on one elbow and raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth lifting in a familiar smirk that could mean any one of a thousand things. "And just where do you think you're going?"

Fenris stared at her for a moment, silently cursing himself, wishing she had stayed asleep - because now this was going to be so much harder, the bedsheet just slightly falling away from her body, her bare skin illuminated by the glow of embers and moonlight, her hazel eyes piercing him, her tone playful but her gaze deadly serious. He began to try to explain his feelings to her - the half-formed memories, the phantom pains - aware of his halting tone, of how incomprehensible it all sounded, aware of the fear always lurking in the back of his mind that he could never admit to her, but that drove everything he did as fiercely as a wolf on his heels. Aware that she would most likely take this personally, and that it would hurt him, but not as much as his past did. "I...I just can't."

Hawke stood up slowly, her body free from the sheets now - and still she stood straight and firm, as if she were armed and armored in the sunlight, not naked in her bedroom facing a fleeing lover, and _oh, Maker, how glorious_ she was - and she walked calmly over to him, her eyes locked on his, her face unreadable. There was an ever-tightening knot in the pit of his stomach, and he could not will himself to move. He was anticipating a slap or a curse, but instead she gently took his half-on gauntlet in her hands and pulled it off, set it aside, then started to unbuckle the other one. Fenris had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Hawke-"

"If you don't want to lay with me anymore, that's alright. If you don't even want me to touch your skin - I won't ask you to do something that hurts you..." She was looking down now, not at him, her attention focused on removing his gauntlet and then moving her deft hands to the straps of his breastplate, her voice unwavering but quiet. Fenris knew he should pull away, should at least object, but he could only stare helplessly at her, her dark hair falling over her eyes, sparing him from the emotion he might see there. "...but please - don't leave."

"It's not your fault, Marian, it's only me," he protested softly, aware of how unconvincing those words always sounded. "You...you don't understand what it would... _cost_ me...to stay."

"And you don't understand what it would cost me if you left." His breastplate fallen to the floor, Hawke stood straight again and looked him in the eye, their faces close enough to feel each other's breath.

It took Fenris a moment to process what she had just said. His brow furrowed. He had not expected...whatever was happening right now. "You were just fine before you met me, Hawke." It came out a little colder than he had intended it to, but she didn't hesitate for a moment.

"Yes I was, but now there's no going back, is there?"

He had tried to fight it, to fight _himself_ , but as her steady gaze held his, Fenris could feel the last of his resistance ebbing away. He turned his head from her, unwilling to let her see the tears beginning to well in his eyes, overwhelmed by the utter confusion her gentle but unyielding persistence had thrown him into. _How long can this broken city stand before this woman? How long before her sheer will erodes it away? I cannot even look at her now-_

Hesitantly, not knowing if it would make things better or worse, Hawke reached out her hand, gently brushing his calloused fingers with hers. She was afraid he would snatch himself away, but instead he took her hand - gripping it tightly, still not looking at her, but holding on to her as if for dear life. She took his other hand, and he allowed it, and she gently began to lead him toward the bed. She pulled back the sheet and stepped aside as he slowly lay down and stared up at the canopy, blinking hard. Hawke pretended not to notice his tears as she lay down beside him, on her back like he was. She left a space between them and stared up, as he did, her hands folded across her waist, holding her breath, entirely unsure of what to do next.

Fenris felt as if the whole world had been thrown off its axis in the last five minutes. He did not entirely understand his feelings, as Hawke's actions had completely baffled him - _does she really want me in her life **that much**? am I so meaningful to her that she would throw away her famous pride for me? - _ but some part of him knew that this was right, that he needed to stay here; that the time had come when running from his past was no longer his best option. His eyes clearing, he looked over at Marian and saw that she was chewing her lip, looking somewhat worried and trying very hard not to look at him. Arguably the most fearsome woman in Kirkwall, for once reduced to awkward uncertainty for fear of screwing up. Fenris smiled, just a small smile that she did not see, and took her hand. He could feel her relax as she squeezed his hand back, and she turned her head and gave him that warm smile of hers, the one that every poor soul in Lowtown trusted more than they trusted the Maker, the one that could charm the scowl off an angry magistrate's face.

They fell asleep like that, side by side, hand in hand, none of the tension or urgency between them that there always had been before. And when Fenris woke to the sunlight streaming into the window, he found that she had pulled herself to him and was clinging to him, nearly wrapped around him - a habit of hers, that she did unknowingly in her sleep, which he would quickly become accustomed to - and the house was quiet and her skin was warm and soft against his, and her face was more serene than he had ever seen it, and he had no desire to pull away.


	2. Justice and Vengeance and Mercy and a lifetime of what-ifs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The seconds after the Chantry explosion. Very short.

"It's done, Hawke. There's no going back now. So whatever you're going to do... just do it. It's what I deserve."

Anders bows his head, pulling his eyes away from the fire climbing higher over the Hightown rooftops, his back to the people he once called his only friends, and waits. He waits for the words of shock and scorn, and then for the dagger to whisper past his ear and swiftly bite into his throat, and then nothing - no more anger or pain or loneliness or Justice or Vengeance, nothing for him anymore but the Void.

He waits.

Behind him, behind the rigid figure standing over him with her face hidden in the shadow of the fires, the Misfits of Kirkwall wait. They hold their breath. Anders does not know this, does not see any of it. His eyes are closed. He waits.

Then there is the sound of a dagger sliding back into its sheath, and Hawke sighing quietly, wearily, in that way she always does.

Anders opens his eyes, the final stage of his final plan suddenly thrown into uncertainty.

Her voice wavers for a moment; "Goddammit, Anders..." but then her familiar conviction returns. "...You're not getting off the hook that easy. This is your mess, and you're gonna help us clean it up."

He stands too quickly on unsteady legs, suddenly lightheaded, and turns around, meeting the well-known sight of Hawke's set jaw and determined gaze. He is not quite sure what he expects to see on the faces behind her, those belonging to his Former Only Friends - perhaps disappointment, judgement, contempt, grim resignation. He is surprised to see - from every one of them - something that looks a lot like relief.


End file.
